Metamorphosis
by RowanRhys
Summary: Gen. Alternate Universe. Nonevil Draco. Sixth year Draco Malfoy finds that change comes from choiceand that with choices, comes consequences. Sequel to Letter to No One.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever. Ms. Rowling has publically approved of fanfiction in several different forums. 

**A/N:** This is the plot bunny that ambushed me in a dream after I read one of the reviews on the original "Letter to No One." Amazing what inspiration the muses can come up with!

**A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006): ** This story is in the process of being re-edited to correct some minor plotline continuity glitches prior to the posting of the new chapter I've written, and to accommodate the expanded "Letter to No One" background. This story became AU the moment OOTP hit the shelves. While my co-author and I might borrow some usable bits from OOTP and HBP, do not expect anything but minor cosmetic inclusions.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Prologue**

By RowanRhys

_August 1990 _

Draco stood nervously in front of his father's desk, wondering what he'd done wrong now. The summons to appear in the oak-furnished study was always a trigger for the nauseating fear that roiled even now in his stomach. Now, as he faced his stern-faced father, he racked his brains for what infraction he'd committed of the rules that made up his life. _Did he find out about me giving that galleon to Aldry to pay his fine for doing magic in front of a Muggle?_ It occurred to him that he'd not seen the stablemaster's son about the estate in recent days and his blood abruptly ran cold.

"You leave for Hogwarts in three days."

"Yes, sir." He'd learned to keep the fear from his voice most of the time, by now.He hated how afraid he felt. _I'll never be in Gryffindor,_ he thought. _I'm certainly not brave enough._

Lucius Malfoy stared down at his eleven-year old son. "Despite my best efforts to rear you up in the correct manner, so that you may grow to fill the role which destiny has provided you, you keep making mistakes. You continue in your disobedience. Even when I am here every day correcting you."

_He knows._ Draco swallowed hard.

"And now that you're going off to school, I won't be there to ensure your proper behavior." Before the boy could feel a sense of relief at that pronouncement, Lucius continued. "And so, I've arranged that you will be _reminded_ of what is expected of you. Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle." At the slightly raised voice, the door on the inner wall of the study opened and two boys entered the room.

Draco recognized them. Both large and muscular. Familiar from the social gatherings his mother hosted and attended. Bullies who pulled Pansy Parkinson's braids and dropped frogs down Millicent Bulstrode's dress. And who had beaten him up to get the last piece of birthday cake when he'd turned eight. His mother had been angry at _him_ for the broken nose she'd had to have magically healed at St. Mungo's, and even now she complained about the quality of work the mediwizard had done, saying that his nose no longer had the aristocratic look it should.

"They know what I expect of you, Draco. And when they see you are getting out of line or behaving in any way that is counter to what a boy in your position should be, they will remind you--forcibly if necessary. Do you understand?" Lucius leaned back in his leather-covered chair, steepling his fingers before him.

"Yes, sir." Draco's grey eyes darted between the approaching youths and his father.

"I'm not so sure that you do. You know my thoughts on fraternizing with the lower orders--I've told them to you often enough." Lucius reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled out a golden coin. He tossed it onto the desktop before Draco, where it rang and spun for a bit before coming to rest with a light, pure clink. "Now where would a stable brat get hold of this much money?" His eyes narrowed.

"I-I don't know, sir." Draco couldn't keep the tremor from his voice.

"Mr. Goyle, Mr. Crabbe. If you please?"

Draco sank to the floor, curled up under their fists and feet, his arms crossed over his head to protect his face. Despairingly, he bid farewell to his dream of escape at Hogwarts and wished that he were like that boy he'd met at Madam Malkin's the day he'd gotten his school robes. That he were anyone other than Lucius Malfoy's son and heir.

TBC


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter One**By RowanRhys 

_Friday, December 20, 1996_

Draco could hear the suits of armor in the hallway outside the library singing Christmas carols as he approached them. He'd stayed up late, after Crabbe and Goyle had fallen asleep, packing his trunk for the trip back to Malfoy Manor for the holidays. He couldn't bring himself to call it 'home.' Not anymore. At the moment, they were cramming their things into their trunks. He'd told them that he was going to find Pansy "to say goodbye."

He hadn't actually lied. On his way to the library, he had found Pansy--in a lip lock with Malcolm Baddock under a floating sprig of mistletoe, in a niche near the girl's loo that had been marked 'out of order' ever since he'd started at Hogwart's six years before. He'd skirted around the occupied couple and continued to his goal.

The table tucked back near the restricted section was out of view of the library's entry and the circulation desk where Madam Pince presided. From a magically enlarged pocket of his robe, he pulled out his wand, an inkpot, a quill and several sheets of parchment and spread them out on the table before him.

To the casual eye they looked like ordinary letters.

Making sure there was no one about, Draco swished his wand in the air over the documents and whispered, "_Veritas!_"

The closely-penned text changed, and he was looking down on the words he'd written over the last year and a half in the middle of the night, a silencing charm on his bed curtains to keep his keepers from finding out what he was doing. Pouring out his feelings and fears to the only safe listener. And even then, he had to disguise them.

_I envy Potter. I can't believe I'm saying that, but I do. His Muggle family doesn't want him home for the holidays, so once again he's staying at Hogwarts. I wish that I could stay this year. I don't want to have to make polite conversation with murderers and rapists. I don't want to become one of them. They all expect it, though. Young Draco Malfoy, following slavishly in his father's footsteps to fling himself in homage at the Dark Lord's feet. Like hell! _

_I especially don't want to face my father after last Saturday at the Three Broomsticks. He's given me orders I don't dare disobey. Even though I don't know the purpose behind them, whatever it is must be bad. I can't say that I'm ever going to really like Granger, but even a Mudblood doesn't deserve the sort of things that Father would likely do to her--or worse, make me do to her._

Draco winced as he remembered the Hogsmeade weekend just past. Zabini was his keeper that day. Blaise had gotten a growth spurt over the previous summer and had not only shot up, but filled out into a strongly muscled, but intelligent sixteen year old. During summer visits to Malfoy Manor, Zabini had been incorporated into the group of people that Lucius Malfoy used to keep his heir under strict control.

Lucius had sent an Owl to Draco at breakfast that morning, telling him and Blaise to meet him in a private parlour at the Three Broomsticks at two in the afternoon. When they got there, and Rosemerta had escorted the two boys into the chamber, they found Lucius seated before the fire in a velvet-upholstered armchair nursing a glass of some amber fluid in one hand and negligently dangling his wand from the fingers of the other. The flames' flickering made odd shadows move across Lucius' face. Draco remembered that Lucius was a variation of Lucifer, the fallen angel, and he had to admit that his father certainly would fit that description. He'd stood before his enthroned parent, wondering how long it would take for Lucius to lose his temper with him. He felt Zabini's hand on his shoulder, squeezing imperceptibly but painfully on the cracked collarbone that Goyle had given him two nights previous. Despite his best efforts, he flinched from the pain, and Lucius glared at him, tightening his grip on his wand.

Nausea roiled in Draco's stomach as the fight or flight response kicked in. Fighting was out of the question. As was flight. He'd swallowed down the bile in his throat as he clenched his fists at his side.

"You've been disobedient again."

Draco shook his head. "No, sir. Quidditch practice--"

"I can tell you're lying, boy. Mr. Zabini, please be so good as to remind my son of his duty."

Draco hunched down in the library chair as the memory of the beating replayed in his mind. He hadn't screamed, even though he'd nearly bitten through his lower lip by the time Blaise had finished. He'd lain face down on the rug at his father's feet, hardly able to breathe from the pain in his side and lower back from his Housemate's heavy shoes. He heard his father give his orders then, words that made no sense but had to be obeyed. He didn't even bother wondering how Lucius had found out that Granger was going home for the Christmas holidays.

He picked up his quill and dipped it into the inkpot.

_Maybe she'll change her mind about going home at the last minute like she did last year. I hope she will. _

TBC


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever.

A/N (Jan 2006): This chapter has been re-edited to correct punctuation and grammar errors.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Two**

by RowanRhys

_Friday, December 20, 1996_

Hermione paused in the stair hall as the other students who were heading home for the holiday rushed toward the carriages that would take them to the Hogsmeade station.

She grinned at Harry, Ron and Ginny. "Don't look so down," she told them. "You three get to be together this Christmas. I have to put up with well-meaning aunts and uncles asking inconvenient questions about my 'exclusive boarding school', and my dad and grandfather arguing over their favorite rugby teams! But Mum really wants me home, especially after last year."

"Be careful, Hermione," Harry whispered in her ear as he gave her a hug. Louder he said, "Happy Christmas!"

Ron flushed as he hugged her, mumbling his holiday wish, and pressing a small package into her hand. "Don't open it until Christmas!"

Ginny giggled and handed her an envelope. "Happy Christmas, Hermione. Tell your mother that my Mum loves the cookie recipes she sent."

"Well, it's not like Mum can do them anymore since she was found to be diabetic. Someone ought to get some use out of them since I simply can't cook to save my life!"

A voice from outside bellowed, "Everyone for the Express, load up now!" and she gave her friends one last smile before rushing out to the nearest of the waiting carriages. As she climbed in, grateful for her warm cloak and Gryffindor scarf in the freezing weather, she found, to her dismay, that the other passengers were Draco Malfoy, his new shadow Blaise Zabini, and the silent hulks, Crabbe and Goyle. It was too late to switch coaches, so she settled herself into the only open seat, to Malfoy's left.

"Surprised you aren't staying with Potty and the Weasel, Mudblood," Draco drawled. "Aren't you afraid of the trouble they'll get into without you to keep them out of it?"

"I'd think you'd rather they got in trouble, Malfoy," she told him disdainfully, and looked out the coach window at the snow-covered scenery outside, turning her shoulder towards him.

The moment the coaches stopped at Hogsmeade station, she opened the door and jumped out, eager to get away from the Slytherins as soon as she could. Finding her trunk and Crookshanks' basket had made their way down from the Castle as usual; she selected an empty compartment and climbed in, not noticing that the Slytherins were carefully noting which one it was.

The Hogwarts Express rocked gently as it steamed south toward London. Draco sat quietly in his compartment, staring out at the passing scenery, trying to ignore the noises that Crabbe and Goyle were making as they ate the pile of sweets they'd gotten from the trolley. He was also trying to keep from meeting Zabini's eye, not wanting to go to Granger's compartment in the second car down from theirs, not wanting to be forced to be part of whatever Deatheater plot his father had come up with.

He felt someone nudge his foot and looked up to see Blaise glaring at him. Zabini gave a quick jerk of the head toward the door and slowly clenched a fist in his lap.

Draco stared at the hand that had caused him so much pain a few days before, and gave in. _No wonder I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor. I'm such a damned coward._

He stretched in his seat and grumbled aloud, "I'm getting stiff sitting here. I'm taking a walk." He stood and swayed slightly with the motion of the train and stepped over Vincent's huge feet.

"I'll join you," Blaise said easily. "Boring trip. I don't see why they won't let us portkey home. It would be so much more convenient."

Draco strolled along the corridor, glancing in the various compartments they passed. Most of them had at least three or four children in them, all excited about the holiday, and blissfully unaware of the dark plots and plans afoot in the world.

When they reached their destination, the door to the compartment was open, and Granger was the only one sitting in it.

_Why couldn't you have more friends?_ Draco wished. _If there were more people in here, I wouldn't have to do this._

He leaned against the doorframe and smirked. "Hey, Granger, I have to admit that I'm surprised you abandoned your boyfriend for the holidays. Little Ronniekins is going to pine away while you're gone."

He could feel Zabini's bulky form up against his back, a silent reminder to follow his father's orders exactly. _"Distract her. Keep her attention on you and not Blaise. And don't even think about failing on this simple assignment."_ The discreet but firm nudge at the level of his kidneys, right into one of the purpling bruises from his discipline at the Three Broomsticks, reminded him to keep up the act.

_Only six more weeks until I'm of age and can legally get out of this_, he reminded himself as he move fully into the compartment and sat down directly across from Hermione. _Only six more weeks._

She glared at him over the paperback book she had been reading. "I don't recall inviting you to join me, Malfoy."

"I don't need an invitation, Granger." He looked at the book she held defensively before her. "What are you reading? Surely you've got _Hogwarts-A History_ memorized by now?" He reached out and plucked the paperback from her fingers, keeping it open to her place, and examined the cover. "Granger reading a_ romance_ novel?"

He laughed out loud before turning it around and looking at the page she'd been reading. He snorted as he scanned the words. "He stood alone at the top of the grand staircase, waiting as the woman he loved glided toward him, a vision in rose and silver--Good gods, Granger. You actually enjoy this fluff?" He looked at the cover once more, smirking at the Regency buck and dimpling lady at his side. Then his eyes caught the author's name. "Anne Elizabeth _Granger_?"

"She's my aunt--give that back!" She lunged forward, grabbing for the book he held just out of her reach. Just then, the train jerked to an unexpected halt and momentum carried her right into him; landing between his knees with one arm up over his shoulder, the other at his waist, and her face buried in the cashmere sweater right at the level of his belt.

There was a moment of shocked silence then Draco forced the expected taunt from a nearly paralyzed throat as he stared down at her tousled brown hair. "Well, Granger, finally learned your proper place? On your knees at the feet of the pure-blooded?"

He heard Hermione gasp as she realized the compromising position she was in and she nearly gouged his face with her fingernails as she pushed herself up and away from him, only to catch her foot on the hem of her robe, falling back to sit on her heels before him.

"Perhaps you'd like to be--of _service_?" He drawled, twisting the knife.

She scrambled awkwardly to her feet, barely noticing Zabini's unobtrusive assisting hand at her elbow. "Damn you, Malfoy!" She was literally shaking with rage as she jerked her arm from Blaise's grasp and dropped back into her seat. "Get _out_ before I hex you so badly you'll never have to worry about having an heir to carry on your precious pureblood family line!"

A quick glance at Zabini got him a minute nod, and Draco stood up, just as the train lurched into motion once more.

He stared down at the anger-flushed seventeen-year-old witch for a moment before dropping her book into her lap. "Here's your book, Mudblood. Enjoy it while you can. Real life is nothing like these fairytales."

He stalked from the compartment with his head held high, although he was inwardly quaking. Her threat wasn't an idle one, he knew. She really was the most powerful and skilled witch to come through Hogwarts in a century, even if his father refused to admit it.

Blaise came up next to him grinning as they entered the car where their compartment was located. "Not bad, Draco. You know I would have been glad to stand guard if you wanted to take advantage of her position."

"She's a Mudblood, Blaise." Draco reached for the door handle of the men's loo as he responded.

"So you wash afterwards." Zabini smirked. "Or are you afraid that you'll catch something from her?"

"These days you can't be too careful. I'll be out in a few." Draco locked the panel between them and leaned back against it.

_All I did was talk to her. Kept her focused on me. So why do I feel like I've just laid a curse on her?_ He closed his eyes as guilt rampaged through him. _Maybe I should have stayed... if she'd hexed me badly enough, I could spend Christmas in St. Mungo's and forget all about this._

He bent over the tiny sink and ran some cold water into it to splash on his face. If he could have, he'd have applied some to another bit of his anatomy that remembered how soft she felt pressed up against him when the train had stopped. _Cut it out! It's **Granger**!_

He found Zabini waiting for him in the corridor and snapped at him, irritated. "Do you really think I need a babysitter to walk the fifteen feet to our compartment? I'm not an infant, you know."

He pushed past the bigger youth and threw himself into his seat after stepping over Vincent's feet again. Even when Blaise sat down opposite him, Draco kept his eyes on the window, watching the trees and fields flash by, until, half-hypnotized by the streaky blur, his grey eyes closed and he slept.

TBC


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever. 

**A/N:** This is the plot bunny that ambushed me in a dream after I read one of the reviews on the original "Letter to No One." Amazing what inspiration the muses can come up with!

**A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006):** This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Three**

by RowanRhys

_Friday, December 20, 1996_

Hermione passed through the barrier between Platform 9 3/4 and the rest of Kings Cross Station, and, temporarily abandoning her trunk and Crookshanks in his basket, flung herself in her father's arms. "Happy Christmas, Dad!"

Mr. Granger hugged her close, then relinquished his nearly-grown daughter to his wife, and took over the luggage trolley.

Hermione listened to her mother's chatter about shopping for presents, the expected guests, and the menu for Christmas Day as they moved slowly through the crowded station. She caught sight of Dean Thomas being made much of by an elegantly beautiful woman of color and waved to him. "Happy Christmas, Dean! See you when term begins!" she called.

"One of your classmates?" Mr. Granger peered through his glasses toward the other student who was draped, like Hermione, in a red and gold scarf.

"Yes, Dad. He's one of Harry's dorm mates. I help him with homework sometimes." They reached the street entrance and Hermione shivered in a gust of freezing wind that blew her bushy hair back from her face. She hesitated as she stepped onto the pavement when she saw a shining black limousine at the kerb. Standing beside it, looking as cold as the snow that was spitting through the smoggy London air, was Lucius Malfoy.

His icy grey eyes scanned over her family and returned to rest on her before a servant hurried up, pushing a luggage trolley, followed by a sulky-looking Draco, wearing his House silver and green scarf over an expensive black wool coat. The Slytherin gave her a brief nod as he passed. "Granger."

She flushed, remembering their all-too-intimate and angry encounter on the train, and muttered, "Malfoy", before urging her parents toward the car park. As they went, she could feel Lucius' malevolent gaze on her back all the way to where the family car was parked.

Her father hoisted her trunk into the car's boot and asked, "Nice looking young man. Another schoolmate?"

"Nice looking? Not to my eyes. We--don't really get along. I'm in Gryffindor House, he's in Slytherin." Hermione slid into the back seat and tucked Crookshanks' basket next to her. "Draco Malfoy is not someone I want to even think about until after I get back to school in January."

Thankfully, her mother began to talk about the relatives who were supposed to descend upon the Granger home in four days' time and Hermione spent the drive home as an audience to her parents' commentary on the snowy weather, and how the various aunts, uncles and cousins would be traveling to get there.

* * *

The next evening, Hermione was helping her mother clean up after dinner. She hummed happily, as she used her wand to safely levitate just-washed-and-dried dishes to their places in the cupboards to shelves she was normally too short to reach easily. Since she'd turned 17 the previous September, it was nice to finally get to use her magic outside of school.

Her mother laughed at the sight. "I'm going to be spoiled by the time you go back, my dear."

"No, you won't. Aunt Rose arrives tomorrow and I can't show off in front of her. This is my last chance to practice until after Boxing Day. It's back to the Muggle way tomorrow night."

"And here I was hoping to get through the holiday with no broken dishes," Mrs. Granger sighed theatrically then laughed.

Hermione laughed too. "Mum, I still need to do some Christmas shopping. Want to come with me tomorrow?"

"To Diagon Alley?" The older woman's eyes brightened. She was fascinated by the Wizardly shopping district, and enjoyed the rare excursions into part of her daughter's world.

"Well, yes. But I need to go to some Muggle stores, too."

"Well, Sunday shopping hours will be a bit awkward, but if we time it right, we can be back before Aunt Rose gets here. How about we take the train into town? Your father can pick us up at the station to bring us and the parcels home."

Hermione sent the last few pieces of silverware flying into the drawer and magically pushed it closed. "Sounds great to me, Mum." She glanced at the clock. "Isn't it time to check your sugar levels?"

"Yes, mother!" Mrs. Granger made a face and went to rummage in the cupboard by the sink.

Hermione sighed quietly as she sat down at the kitchen table. It had been a shock to find out a year ago that her mother had acquired adult-onset diabetes. She immediately had gone into research mode and read up on the condition, tracking down every bit of information she could, and nagging her mother in regards to diet, insulin jabs, and daily monitoring; doing so by Owl when she was at school, or face-to-face at home over the summer holiday.

She absently chewed on her lip as she wondered if the Wizarding world had to deal with the condition. It hadn't occurred to her to check on that. _I'll look it up when I get back to school._ She winced as her mother matter-of-factly drew up a syringe of insulin. _And maybe they've got a better way of handling it instead of having to stab oneself twice a day. A potion, perhaps. I guess I could always ask Madam Pomfrey. _

TBC


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever. 

**A/N:** This is the plot bunny that ambushed me in a dream after I read one of the reviews on the original "Letter to No One." Amazing what inspiration the muses can come up with!

**A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006):** This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

Metamorphosis: Chapter Four 

by RowanRhys

_Sunday, 22 December, 1996_

Diagon Alley was a Dickensian picture postcard when Hermione and her mother got there early on Sunday morning. Holly garlands, ivy, and big red bows decorated the windows and doorways, and even Gringotts, where they exchanged Muggle currency for Galleons, Sickles and Knuts, was adorned with two very dignified and proper wreaths.

They spent a merry time going from shop to shop, selecting appropriate gifts for Harry, Ron, and Ginny. When Fred Weasley ran into them on his way back from making a deposit at Gringotts, they were hijacked into Weasley Wizard Wheezes, where George and a staff of young witches and wizards almost as crazy as the twins demonstrated their newest inventions, and plied them with samples for Hermione to take back to Hogwarts, including a trick wand that cast Christmas Carol Charms. The wand would emit a burst of red and green light that, on contact with a person, would turn into a small red-beribboned holly wreath which would sing a Christmas Carol in its entirety in a high squeaky voice before dissolving away in a shower of red and green glitter.

"You've really come a long way since you first tricked Neville with a Canary Cream," Hermione admitted. "But has your Mum ever really resigned herself to the fact that neither of you will be going into the Ministry like Percy and your Dad?"

Fred shook his head. "Nope. She's absolutely sure that this place is going to fold and we'll regret not taking the right road. She won't listen to anything about it, not even about the profits we're making. But Harry was right--we need laughs more than ever these days."

Hermione looked up from the shopping list she'd been ticking things off of, "Harry said that? When?"

George shook his head and Fred unaccountably flushed as he answered. "Oh, about a year and a half ago. Now you said you were heading into Muggle London? Where are you going?"

Mrs. Granger, cautiously sipping a cup of unsweetened tea, spoke up. "The usual. Hambly's Toys, Selfridges, Marks and Spencer, and then down to Fortnum and Mason to pick up fruitcake and the pudding for Christmas Day."

At the mention of the toy store, Hermione saw George grin at Fred. "If we weren't so busy this week, I'd skiv off and join you. But duty calls. Happy Christmas!" He gave Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek before heading towards the front of the store where the cashier was being overwhelmed by eager kids ready to pay for their selections.

Fred grinned wryly. "I think I'm not so subtly being told to get back to work. Have fun and stop by before New Years if you can, Hermione. There's an Apparition Point by our back door if you don't want to deal with the Floo or Muggle transport."

She grinned. "Well, I finally have my license now, so I'll do that. Happy Christmas!"

Hermione was happily tired out, but full of the holiday spirit when she and her mother finally got on the Tube at Bond Street, laden with shopping bags bearing a variety of labels. The Jubilee Line cars were packed, so they stood, crammed in like sardines, with other holiday shoppers. The lights flickered as the car rocked along the underground tracks toward the Baker Street Station, where she and Mrs. Granger tumbled out into the maze of corridors and moving stairs that connected five different Underground routes at various levels.

Hermione pulled her mother to the side while the initial rush of people rushed from the platform into the labyrinth. "No sense in being trampled since we'll have to wait for our connection anyway! Are you feeling all right, Mum?"

"Oh, yes. I will need to check my sugar levels as soon as we get home though." Mrs. Granger shifted her purse strap higher on her shoulder and took a firmer grip on her shopping bags. "I'm ready if you are."

Hermione laughed picked up her packages and walked beside her mother around a dogleg corner_. I wish I'd done some discreet magic and shrunk some of our burdens_, she thought to herself. "I should have known that I'd get more than what I had on my list!"

"That's all right--"

The lights in the tiled hallway dimmed suddenly, came back to full brightness and then flickered twice before going out entirely, leaving them in pitch blackness.

"Oh, good grief! Mum, do you still have that pocket torch on your key chain?"

"Yes, just a sec--"

A voice hissed out of the darkness behind them. "_Stupefy_!"

TBC


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever. 

**A/N:** This is the plot bunny that ambushed me in a dream after I read one of the reviews on the original "Letter to No One." Amazing what inspiration the muses can come up with!

**A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006):** This alternate universe story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Five**  
by RowanRhys

_Sunday, 22 December 2004_

Draco, rummaging through the shelves of the Manor library, looking for a Potions reference for his holiday homework, was grateful to have at least a few days free of the company of his trio of gaoler-guardians before they came for the beginning of Narcissa's Christmas houseparty on the 23rd. At least a few days, as long as he avoided raising his parents' ire, that he didn't have to worry about physical coercion to obedience. He'd just found the book he needed when he was startled by the distinctive _Pop!_ of someone either Apparating or Portkeying into the room. His automatic flinch made the volume slip from his fingers and he immediately slid further back between the shelves into the shadows to keep out of sight of the visitors, but not so far that he couldn't observe what was going on.

There were four dark-robed figures, two of them each supporting a limp figure clothed in Muggle attire. Draco held his breath as he realized that his father and three of his cronies had collected what they called playthings, most probably for the after-hours festivities on Christmas Night. He forced back nausea at the thought of what was in store for the two women, then, nearly retched again as he realized who they were.

_Granger! And that must be her mother or her aunt._ The teenager looked like a younger, softer copy of the graying woman, both sharing the same bone structure, the same complexion and the same bushy, out-of-control hair. _Oh, shit. This is what Father was setting up when he told me to distract her on the train. I bet Zabini put a locator on her. _

His heart sank as the men removed their masks. If they didn't care if the women saw who they were, it meant that it didn't matter because they wouldn't be leaving the Manor alive. Within minutes Hermione Gtanger and her mother were bound tightly with silvery cords, propped up in two of the high-backed chairs that faced the fire.

Lucius moved to stand between them and aimed his wand at the Gryffindor. _"Ennervate!"_

Draco saw Granger open her eyes to stared dazedly out into the room, and then watched her focus on the senior Malfoy, an expression of quickly masked horror flashing across it as she realized who stood before her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy? I'll be missed and--" she spat, struggling against the bonds that held her.

"I suggest you keep your temper, my dear, or you'll find that your holiday stay will become _quite_ unpleasant. If not for you, then for her." Lucius moved to the side, allowing Hermione to see the unconscious older woman.

"Mum--No! She's a Muggle; she's no threat to you!"

"She's here to ensure your compliance," Lucius told her. "As long as you behave, she stays safely asleep and blissfully unaware of the worst a wizard can do to a Muggle." Draco held his breath as he saw Goyle place his broad hand across Mrs. Granger's throat. He saw and heard Hermione gasp as the man's fingers tightened, and watched, horrified, as the girl subsided into the chair, her hands clenched into fists. "Stop! She's a diabetic. She needs insulin, and regular food. Please, let her go home. Do an _Obliviate_ if you have to. But don't--" 

The younger Malfoy could see the tears in her eyes even before they spilled over to drench her face. He'd never thought to see Hermione Granger beg--die, perhaps, because of her stubborn resistance, but to plead and beg--never.

"--She'll die without her medicine. Please, let her go!"

"Silence!" Lucius seized a handful of Hermione's curls and jerked roughly. "McNair, Goyle, Avery. Take them downstairs and lock them up. Separately. I'll set the rest of the plan in motion tomorrow." He gave a final tug before releasing the girl. "And put the Mudblood in the farthest cell. She likes to learn, I understand, so lets give her some new lessons to watch while we wait for Potter to--come to her rescue."

A few minutes later, the room was empty, save for Lucius, who stood facing the fire, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, playing idly with his wand as he watched the flames. Draco silently watched him for an interminable time before the older man turned to face the shelves behind which he lurked.

"I know you're over there, Draco. You dropped your book in plain sight. Inept spying has penalties, as I'm sure you've learned by now."

The last word was followed by a growled spell that literally grabbed the sixteen-year old and dragged him across the room to slam face down across the library desk. Draco yelped as the impact aggravated the bruises and hurts from the beating Zabini had given him at the Three Broomsticks, and missed Lucius' next words. Silvery cords whipped up from its legs and corners and entwined about his wrists and ankles, holding him down on the shining mahogany surface.

Another incantation and Draco arched his body against the bindings, biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. It wasn't _Crucio._ So far, Lucius had spared his heir that experience. But Draco couldn't imagine a worse feeling than the points of fire that danced about, just beneath the surface of his skin, multiplying like yeast in a batch of bread dough until he was thrashing about just to try to get his hands free to rip the skin from his flesh, to make it stop. It had been years since his father had deigned to use his own hands to punish his son, usually having his lackeys take care of it, like Blaise, Gregory and Vincent did at school, and only occasionally using his magic to do accomplish the task. But his body remembered this particular punishment and recoiled against the sensations, forcing his forehead hard against the polished surface of the desktop as he convulsed.

Draco was dancing on the edge of unconsciousness, reeking with the smell of his own urine and soil, when he finally felt the fire die away. His throat was raw from the screams that had finally forced their way past his teeth. The cords released and vanished away, leaving blood red marks on his wrists and ankles as if they'd been cut by wire. He rolled off the desktop and stood on shaking legs as his father finally spoke dispassionately.

"Clean yourself up. Your mother is expecting you to be at dinner tonight, but after that I don't want to see your face until Christmas Eve. Out!" Lucius flicked his wand once more, and the reference book that Draco had dropped flew through the air to slam into his chest, causing him to fall back a step, against the edge of the desk. "And don't forget your book," he added silkily.

"Yes, sir." Draco managed to get through the door with the perfect posture that his parents demanded of him before his knees gave way. He scrubbed at the wetness on his face as he tried to get back on his feet, knowing that if Lucius were to come out of the library and see him, he'd find himself down in the basement dungeon, being the subject of one of the lessons that Lucius had alluded to Granger earlier. The hall clock chimed and he realized that he had less than an hour to get back to his rooms on the second floor and get presentable for his mother's little dinner party. Only two guests this time, but important ones.

Draco dragged himself up the first flight of stairs and was halfway up the second one when hear heard the light tapping footsteps that belonged to his mother above him. He looked up at her as she approached him, an angry expression on her perfect face.

"Tell the house elves to serve you in your room, Draco. I just got an Owl from Tansy McMillan that Argus was called into the Ministry for an emergency meeting, so they won't be coming for dinner. Lucius and I will be going out instead." Her voice was cool and unemotional, imparting only information, not any hint of what she might be feeling other than the edge of her anger at the changed plans. She continued down the stairs, not having looked directly at him, and knocked on the library door. Draco continued his painful climb as he heard her Veela-like voice informing his father of the changed situation.

_Only six more weeks. Just six more. And then--And then, what?_ As he reached the dubious sanctuary of his suite, he shook his head. In six more weeks, on the second day of February, the old feast of Candlemas, he would be taken to some secret place and have the mark of Lord Voldemort burned into his pale left arm, forced to follow his father's choice when it was the very last choice he wanted to make. _They won't let me say no. I'd do better cutting my wrists and bleeding to death in the tub before I'm of age. At least they say that type of death is relatively painless--because if I say 'no' to Voldemort, I know that I won't be released by a simple _Aveda Kedavra.

He slid into his bath, wishing that the hot water could cleanse away more than just bodily soil. He felt used and useless. _I'm a coward. Too afraid of my father to make a stand. Why did I let them do what they did? If I hadn't distracted her on the train, Zabini wouldn't have set the locator spell and they wouldn't have been able to grab them. _

The image of his father and the other three Deatheaters popping into the library rose up behind his eyes once more. Granger looked so different in her Muggle clothes. While they revealed her 17-year-old figure in ways that the loose school robes could not; it was the maturity on her face that had struck him. Even in tears, she looked like a woman now, not a bossy schoolgirl. And going by her mother's appearance, she would become even lovelier as she aged.

"What did she mean about her mother needing medicine?" He frowned and summoned his Muggle Studies text from the desk in his bedroom, unconcerned about the restrictions on underage magic use. Before he'd returned home for the hols, his father had made sure that Malfalda Hopkirk would send no letters of censure to the Manor; whether by bribery or some other nastier coercion, he didn't know. Muggle Studies was now a required course for all students at Hogwarts and although he had complained bitterly about it at the beginning of the autumn term, he was now secretly grateful for it. He leafed through the pages, looking for any sort of reference to the words that Hermione had used. "Insulin. Diabetes." Then, towards the back of the book in the more advanced sections, he found a couple of chapters focusing on Muggle medicine that contained a few stark paragraphs about the condition. When he finished reading them, he sat in the rapidly cooling bathwater, feeling stunned. If Mrs. Granger didn't get her insulin, very shortly she would die a death so horrific that it would satisfy even Lord Voldemort. Muggle or not, no one deserved such an awful, lingering end. And even if she didn't die, too much time without it could damage her beyond repair.

He returned the book to the desk and climbed stiffly out of the tub. At school some of the Slytherin girls complimented him on his carriage, but none of them knew that the straight, upright posture was more in the interest of minimizing residual pain than it was an effort to look good or project his status. There were always rumors running around the school about his numerous love affairs and it was all he could do not to laugh bitterly when one of them reached his ears. Without privacy, dating was really out of the question. And he knew that his father required him to associate only with girls from Slytherin House, which narrowed the field quite a bit. But going all the way, as Goyle had crudely put it, required exposing at least some of the body. Letting one of the Slytherins witches discover the marks left by his keepers would ensure that he would never survive the remaining years at Hogwarts. They scorned weakness, and those marks were nothing but a visual signal of the weakness and cowardice that filled him.

Wrapped in a huge dark green towel, he went back into his bedroom. One of the house elves had been in the room while he bathed because the filthy clothes were gone from where he'd dropped them, and a tray with covered dishes rested on the desk, apart from the neatly stacked pages of his holiday homework. Aldona, the tawny owl his mother had presented to him on his last birthday--a guilt present, he thought cynically--was dozing on her perch in the corner of the room, and when he sat on the bed to pull his pajama bottoms from beneath his pillow, he discovered that it had been warmed. Suddenly exhausted, he stared at the meal on the desktop, but ultimately decided that it wasn't worth the effort to stand up and cross the room again.

Draco buried himself beneath the covers and commanded the window to open a crack, just enough for Aldona to squeeze through to hunt during the night if she were so inclined. Another wave of his wand extinguished the lights and he tried, unsuccessfully, to lose himself in sleep.

TBC


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever.

**A/N:** This is the plot bunny that ambushed me in a dream after I read one of the reviews on the original "Letter to No One." Amazing what inspiration the muses can come up with!

**A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006):** This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Six**  
by RowanRhys

_Monday, 23 December 2004_

Dawn found the Malfoy heir sitting on the windowsill, breathing on the window glass to melt the fragile frost crystals that had formed overnight. He shivered as a gust of wind forced its way in through the open casement, but Aldona hadn't returned from her hunt and he needed her to carry a message.

The parchment envelope in his hands was bulky, holding more than a mere letter. _I'm holding my future in my hands_, he thought. His thin cold fingers rubbed across the wax seal as he thought about the letter he'd written in the earliest hours of the morning after tearing himself from the grip of a nightmare that featured not only his usual demons, but also the worst his imagination could provide about the ultimate fate of Hermoine Granger and her mother.

_If she isn't back in ten minutes, I won't send it._ He closed his eyes and envisioned the pages of closely written script that were tucked into the parcel.

_Dear Headmaster Dumbledore, _

_After the way I've spoken and behaved over the last five and a half years, I won't be surprised if you don't believe me, but my father has kidnapped Hermione Granger and her mother and they are currently locked up in the lowest levels of Malfoy Manor. I expect that my father intends to use them as bait to lure Harry Potter into a position to be captured to be turned over to the Dark Lord. _

_Mrs. Granger has an illness that will kill her if she does not receive the right medicine, but Father doesn't care about that. He sees her as a disposable tool for him to use to keep Hermione Granger in line until Potter arrives. Don't let Potter come after them. It's a trap. _

_I'm going to try to get Mrs. Granger out of here today, if I can. I don't know if I will be successful, but I feel that I have to try. The Dark Lord will kill her if the illness doesn't and he is supposed to be here on Christmas Night. If I can rescue Hermione, I'll try, but I expect that they've got her locked up behind alarm wards. Perhaps I can do something to help her rescue herself. _

_I'm sorry that it took so long for me to trust you. I've given you no reason in the past to trust me. So, I've enclosed something that will hopefully prove to you that I'm telling you the truth. I've been such a coward and allowed others to make my choices for me until now, but now I am making a choice of my own. I rather suspect that I won't be returning to Hogwarts after the New Year. I expect that if my father doesn't kill me for spoiling his dark plans, Lord Voldemort will. _

_Please keep my owl, Aldona, at the school. If you send her back, my father will probably kill her, too. _

_Draco Malfoy  
23 December 1996_

He'd pulled out the bundle of letters that he'd written to himself as a journal over the last five years, the ones recording his feelings and fears and pains as he was forced to live the life of his father's choosing. After casting a final _Veritas_ spell on them, he'd tucked them, and the new letter into the envelope and addressed it to the Headmaster. After sealing it with his personal seal, he had thrown the quill into the fire, not wanting to risk someone enchanting it to copy out the words that it had written, betraying him.

Now, in the rosy dawn, mere moments before the deadline he'd set, he caught a glimpse of movement in the sky. Aldona was winging back to him, soaring gracefully against the clouds that threatened a very seasonal snow. The moment she landed on the windowsill, he tied the bundle to her leg and whispered the destination into her tufted ear. "Stay there, where you'll be safe." He felt his stomach clench as she swooped back into the air, heading north with steadily beating wings. The Snitch had been released and the game wouldn't be over until he or his opponent caught it.

TBC


	8. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever. 

**A/N:** This is an Alternate Universe Harry Potterverse story. It's a "Redeemed Draco" fic, and those who like their junior Malfoys nasty had best read elsewhere. "Metamorphosis" is the ever-growing plot bunny that came out of the journal-story "Letter to No One."

**A/N UPDATE** (Jan 2006): This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Seven**  
by RowanRhys 

_Monday, 23 December 1996_

When the house elf came to fetch away Draco's breakfast tray, Draco looked up from his History of Magic holiday essay and casually remarked, "I'm going to Diagon Alley to pick up Mother's present. I don't know if I'll be back for lunch or not. Where is my mother now, anyway?"

"Mrs. Malfoy is taking coffee at the house of Mrs. Fudge," the timid elf informed him.

"And my father?" He laid his quill by the inkwell and carefully powdered the wet red ink of the final paragraph, pretending not to notice how the house elf's trembling increased.

"The Master is at the Ministry of Magic for Christmas luncheon, Master Draco."

Draco waved a dismissal and neatly stacked his homework with the books that had come from his school trunk. Ten minutes later, dressed for the winter weather in cloak, House scarf and black leather gloves, he was pushing the heavy door to the dungeon open, having managed to avoid sight of any of the house staff. A tin of Floo Powder was in his pocket along with the pouch of galleons to purchase his mother's Christmas present. And his wand. He grimaced, remembering the lecture he'd received from Lucius when he'd come down from his bedroom the first day of the hols without it. '

Although the dungeon was the oldest remaining part of the Manor, Lucius had updated it somewhat from its late Norman origins. Instead of solid wooden doors banded in iron, the stone cells were sealed with modern steel bars, allowing an immediate view of each prisoner from the center of the main room. From his position just inside the main door, next to the huge hearth that could accommodate a mass Flooing when Lucius decided to have a dark revel, Draco could easily see into the first cell on his left. The older woman was limp and still on the cot within, and he wondered if she were still alive as he quietly placed his wand against the lock. He whispered "_Alohamora"_ and smiled when it clicked open. She was just a Muggle and it was just like his father's cronies not to feel the need to magically seal her in.

He knew that Granger was in the furthest chamber in the opposite side of the dungeon because he could see a tray with the remains of a sparse meal in front of the barred door. And even from where he was, he could feel the magical wards that kept the door sure against any inadvertent wandless magic by the prisoner. It was simple to keep out of Granger's line of sight as long as he stayed close to the entry door and the fireplace.

Being sure to move as quietly as possible, since he didn't want Hermione to be able to identify who had removed her mother from the place in case Lucius or someone else unexpectedly came into the dungeon, he entered the little chamber and awkwardly heaved the middle-aged woman over his shoulder in a carry he'd once seen Professor Snape use when one of the Sixth year Hufflepuffs had managed to not only blow up her cauldron, but knocked herself out while poisoning the air of the Potions classroom. He immediately wished he'd used _Mobilicorpus_, but the less magic he used in this place the better.

Fortunately, the house elves had lit a fire in the great hearth, to give Lucius warmth in which to work later, he supposed bitterly. With a minimal amount of shuffling and a quick check that his _Glamourie_ spell was still intact, he pulled a pinch of Floo Powder from the container in his pocket and tossed it into the flames. Stepping forward, tugging his hood up over his head, he softly, but urgently, said, "St. Mungo's," and abruptly found himself shooting through the Floo network, the strobe-like effect of the passing hearths making him somewhat dizzy as he burst out into the receiving area of the hospital's casualty unit.

As white-clad mediwizards converged on him, he shook his head to get the accumulated soot from his eyes. "I was talking with her on my front step; she'd stopped to ask directions to Chipping Camden, when she collapsed. Wasn't sure what to do," he told them as they conjured up a hovering stretcher. "She's got a bracelet that says 'Diabetic' on it."

One of the mediwitches drew him aside, while keeping her eyes on Mrs. Granger. "She's a Muggle."

"Well, I don't know where one of their hospitals is. Should I have just left her there? There wasn't anyone else about." He made his voice surly and defensive.

"Oh, it's all right. We can _Obliviate_ her, if necessary, before we turn her over to the Muggle side. Do you know her name?"

Draco thought fast, "Not sure, she said it pretty quick--Stranger, Brainger--Something like that, I think."

"Did she have a purse or hand bag?"

"I don't remember. When she fell, I just grabbed her and brought her through the Floo from my place. I could go check."

"Do that. The Muggle authorities will want identification of some sort."

Draco nodded and quickly went back to the cheerfully burning hearth, while the nurse followed the stretcher into a treatment room. "Diagon Alley," he ordered, once he was sure she was out of earshot.

* * *

Diagon Alley's public Floo was seasonally decorated with garlands of evergreen and large bows that changed colors randomly. He grimaced at them as he brushed the soot from himself and set off through the holiday crowd towardKien and Tols, Limited . He'd ordered a jeweled hairclip for his mother's present by Owl Post during exam week at school. "It had better be ready," he muttered to himself. _Or my cover story is blown already._

The elderly Mr. Kien was disgustingly obsequious when Draco appeared in the doorway. _You'd think I was my father_, he thought as he demanded his mother's gift in a petulant tone.

"Of course, Master Malfoy. Here it is; just as you required. White gold with diamonds and emeralds of the highest quality--."

Tuning out the sycophantic babble, Draco barely glanced at the jeweled butterfly hairclip nestled in the deep blue velvet. It wasn't as if it were anything his mother would actually wear; it was simply that she and her guests would expect such an elaborate and expensive present from her only son. Draco turned over the galleons and snatched up the leather-covered box, stuffing it in his robe pocket as he strode from the shop, back into the noisy crowds of Diagon Alley.

He got caught up in a swirl of young people; most of them, like himself, wearing their House scarves, hoods pulled up against the cold, rosy cheeks and noses barely visible beneath the wool folds. Harry Potter himself could have been at his elbow and he wouldn't have recognized his sometime enemy. Reluctant to rush back home, Draco impulsively let himself be carried along with the flow and found himself pushed through the wide flung doors of a shop. The horde dispersed as they moved deeper between the aisles and he found himself staring at an array of wands on a display stand in the rear of the store. The ornate blazon across the packaging announced "Weasley Wizard Wheezes, plc" with flashing red and green "Wacky Wands" scrolling around the plastic wrapping.

A squeal from the next aisle startled him, but the cry was followed by a burst of laughter and a rather large yellow bird flapped madly between dangling holiday decorations. He found himself smiling at the trick and began to look more seriously at the merchandise. "Weasel's sibs actuallyhave made something of their stupid gags," he muttered to himself. "This is far better than Zonko's!" Draco ducked around a giggling set of girls who were too young for Hogwarts and turned his attention to the other end of the Wacky Wands display. A dark shaft that was a virtual likeness for his own Olivander's wand caught his eye. He reached for the package to examine it when a voice from the counter behind him caught his attention.

"They're still missing, Fred. Mr. Granger is distraught and those Aurors are bloody useless."

He turned his head to see George Weasley unloading a box of Kiss-Inducing Mistletoe. "They just want to _Obliviate_ him so they don't need to worry about finding an inconvenient Muggle, the way they're talking."

Draco turned toward them and saw Fred appear from a curtained doorway with another box in his arms, which he sat down next to the one George Weasley was emptying. With a dark expression on his face, he put in, "If the Headmaster weren't keeping on them, they probably would! Here's the last of the Kiss-letoe. Next year we'd better make more. Most of this has already been pre-ordered." He looked away and swallowed hard. "I wish I'd gone ahead and gone with them yesterday like I wanted to--"

Draco dropped the trick wand and moved to lean on the counter, face to face with the larger, stockier young men. "Mrs. Granger's at St. Mungo's." He pushed his hood back, revealing his face. "I took her there, about two hours ago--"

"--You damned Slytherin!" George dropped a be-ribboned bag of greenery and grabbed Draco by the collar, dragging him half across the counter. "How dare you!--"

"It's true," Draco gasped. "I swear--"

Fred rounded the end of the counter and grabbed the Slytherin Sixth year, twisting his arms up behind his back. "You're coming into the office and you're going to spill everything," he hissed, rage clear in his eyes and lowered voice. "And I mean everything, if we have to brew up an illegal _Veritasserum_ batch to get it."

TBC


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever. 

**A/N:** This is an Alternate Universe Harry Potterverse story. It's a "Redeemed Draco" fic, and those who like their junior Malfoys nasty had best read elsewhere. "Metamorphosis" is the ever-growing plot bunny that came out of the journal-story "Letter to No One."

A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006): This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Eight**  
by RowanRhys

_Monday, 23 December 1996_

The twins' office was crowded with a variety of gag samples and parchments piled on a desk, a pair of disorganized worktables with ongoing potions processes bubbling away, a mix-match of chairs and a round table cluttered with the remains of an incomplete meal. The china teapot and attendant crockery went flying to shatter on the floor as Fred flung Draco into the room and yanked the door closed behind them.

As the air "oomphed" out of him when the back of a chair hit his diaphram, Draco heard an obnoxious squealing blare out from the desk. Doubled over, he winced as George grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head up and back. A wand jabbed at his throat.

"I'm telling the truth! My father--" He choked as the wand stabbed deeper into his Adam's apple. "My father brought them to the manor last night. I--_Listen to me!_--"

"Sneakoscopes don't lie, Malfoy."

Hating having to reveal his weakness to the Weasleys, of all people, Draco forced out, "I've got a _Glamourie_ spell on." He tugged uselessly against Fred's hold, unable to get his own wand. "Terminate it and the 'scope should shut up."

He closed his eyes as the _Finite Incantatum_ breached the spell he'd renewed before leaving his home. The illusion slipped away and he opened his grey eyes to stare hopelessly at the be-freckled face in front of his.

George's angry expression faded into one of shock as the Sneakoscope abruptly went silent. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. What happened to you?" The wand dropped away from his throat and George let go of his hair, although Fred still had a merciless grip on Draco's arms.

"Nothing you need worry about." He stifled as gasp as Fred jerked on his wrists.

"Let go of him, Fred." George pulled out a chair and dropped into it. "You look like you got in the way of a Bludger or two."

"Close enough." When Draco's arms were released, he rubbed gingerly at the still-purple mark on his forehead. "Look, I don't have much time before I'm missed. I still need to find a way to get Granger out, and it's got to happen today before father's other--guests--show up. Mrs. Granger is in St. Mungo's. Don't mind how, but I got her there about two hours ago. Tell your dad--tell the Headmaster. They were supposed to be bait to get Potter to come."

"The Ministry can send--" George began.

"And Granger will die before the perimeter alert wards finish sounding off." Draco hoped he didn't sound as scared as he felt. "It's got to be done from the inside before my father realizes they are gone. He and my mother are occupied with all the Christmas social stuff today--the Ministry Luncheon and the Daily Prophet's ball later tonight. I can get to her--give her my wand, if nothing else." He shook his head. "Ill have to see how they've set up the wards around her. But don't let Potter try anything. That's what my father wants. To give Potter to--to You-Know-Who--for a Christmas present."

Fred moved around to the side and blinked at the greenish splotches that adorned Dracos face. "Why are you doing this? Youve always been the--"

"--Been the Slytherin bastard?" Draco closed his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. "Look, I still dont like the idea of Mudbloods overrunning the Wizarding World. But I'm no Deatheater, no matter what it looks like from the outside." He shoved up his left sleeve, baring his forearm. "And I'm doing my damnedest to keep from getting that bloody Mark." He dragged in a deep breath as he yanked his sleeve down over the bruises that ringed his wrist. "Granger isnt my favorite person in the world, but its not right what my father planned for her and her mum. I cant stand around anymore doing nothing and looking like I approve of what he's doing."

The twins glanced over at the silent Sneakoscope, then back at each other.

"I'll _Apparate_ down to Dad's Office," Fred finally said, "And he can get Mr. Granger to St. Mungo's." He glared at Draco. "If this turns out to be a red herring you are going to look ten times worse than you do now by the time I'm done with you."

_I finally decide to spill my guts and it ends up being to_ these _two?_ Draco forced himself not to visibly bristle at the animosity in Fred's manner. "I'm not worried about what _you_ can do to me, Weasley. You'd better get going so Mr. Granger can have at least some of his worries relieved."

Fred growled something under his breath and left the office, slamming the door behind him.

George flicked his wand at the Sneakoscope and disabled it. "You'd better put your make up back on, Malfoy, before you head home."

Draco scowled at the term "make up" but quickly drew his wand and re-cast the _Glamourie_ on himself. George escorted him back out into the shop, clearly intending to accompany him all the way out the front door. As they passed the Wacky Wands display, Draco suddenly paused as an incipient idea bloomed. "Wait a minute." He searched for the wand that was a close double for his own. "How much?"

"Why do you want a joke wand?" George wanted to know.

"Maybe it might just help with what I'm trying to do tonight."

"Fourteen Sickles, eight Knuts."

Draco dropped a full Galleon into the red-haired wizard's hand. "Count the change as credit for the next time I drop in." He pulled up his hood and slid into the holiday crowds in the street, thinking, _I just hope there will be a next time._

TBC

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry it's so short, gentle readers, but my original text disappeared and I had to reconstruct it and my muse insists that this is where the chapter breaks. I think she had the 'flu right along with me and is inclined to be cranky! Thanks for you patience! 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever.

**A/N:** This is an Alternate Universe Harry Potterverse story. It's a "Redeemed Draco" fic, and those who like their junior Malfoy's nasty had best read elsewhere. "Metamorphosis" is the ever-growing plot bunny that came out of the WIP journal-story "Letter to No One."

**A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006):** This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Nine**

by RowanRhys

_Monday, 23 December 1996_

The crowd around the public Floo had thickened considerably by the time Draco got to it. He kept his hood pulled forward, but the weather had worsened a bit, and the snow was being whipped about by random gusts of wind that threatened to carry away hats and unsecured packages. As he got into a queue to use the hearth, a gust blew his hood back and sent his Slytherin scarf streaming back into the face of the man behind him. The fellow cursed, and thrust the scarf back at Draco as the boy turned in response to the vaguely familiar voice. _Oh, Merlin, no!_

Euan Fraisier, one of his father's newer compatriots, glared at him before a stout witch laden with more packages than one person should be able to carry pushed between them. In the moments necessary for her to pass, Draco composed his face into a respectful expression.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Fraiser. Sorry about that." He looped the scarf around his neck a few more times to keep it from fluttering in the wind.

"What are you doing down here? This morning your father said you were at home today."

Draco moved up as the line moved forward, and displayed the leather jewel box he'd hurriedly pulled from his pocket. "I had to pick up Mum's present. I didn't trust the post Owls to get it to the Manor on time." He tucked the parcel under his arm and rummaged in his pocket for floo powder. "I hope to see you at the party tomorrow night, Mr. Fraiser, and your lady wife." He forced a smile then turned to the blaze before him. "Malfoy Manor!"

When he stumbled out onto the hearthrug in the Manor's front hall, he was shaking. Thankfully, the elf that took his cloak and scarf attributed it to the foul weather and suggested in a trembling voice that Master Malfoy might wish a cup of hot chocolate to warm up.

"Excellent idea. I'll be in my room wrapping my mum's gift. And tell the kitchen I want a sandwich, too. Quickly!" He headed up the stairs, slower than usual because his body still ached badly from the previous night's discipline. The clock in the hall struck one; the dull ring echoing up the grand staircase. He didn't have much time to carry out his mad plan before his parents returned from their daylight social activities to prepare for the annual Daily Prophet holiday ball.

* * *

Draco swaggered as he openly crossed the dungeon's main chamber towards the corner cell in which Hermione Granger was incarcerated. Sneaking would just ensure that his father would assume he was up to something, but wanting to taunt the Mudblood was something Lucius would most likely accept. 

His skin prickled as he stepped within the boundary of the warding charms that sealed the steel-barred door. He felt the _Glamourie_ he wore begin to slip as the wards conflicted with his own inner magic, upsetting the balance and making the bruises on his face begin to be visible. There was no time to correct the disguise--who knew how long it would take Lucius or one of his other minions to arrive to investigate the wards' disturbance?

He peered into the cell at the Gryffindor and sneered, "Are you my Christmas present, Granger?", sickening himself with the suggestive taunt. "I see you're missing a wand. Maybe you'd like to experience a Slytherin one?" He arched his eyebrow at her, hoping she'd be angry enough to come up to the door. "After all, it's ever so much more _useful_ and _handy_ than any absent Gryffindor ones." _Take the bait, damn it!_ He had his good wand slid out of sight up his sleeve, half-held in his left hand, which was braced along the edge of the barred door. "Or are you too scared to try it?"

As he'd hoped, Granger couldn't stand the suggestive insults, and jumped up from the cot to stand just inches from the bars, glaring at him. "Damn you, Malfoy--!" she snapped, then gasped as his left hand shot forward, entangling his fingers in her hair and yanking her up against the steel. Draco inwardly winced as he flashed on his father seizing her in like manner the night before, but he pressed his own face against the bars and crushed his mouth against hers, forcing his tongue past her open lips. Groping at her breast with his free hand, he held the kiss until he managed to work the length of his wand into the tangled mass of light brown hair.

Draco pulled away from her lips before she could draw her wits about her. He surveyed her person, his eyes lingering on the swell of her bust under the jersey outfit she wore. "I'm looking forward to Christmas night, Mudblood. Maybe by then you'll appreciate a Slytherin wand."

He swept back towards the dungeon's main door, feeling the crawling sensation from the ward layers around the cell door grow weaker and eventually vanish as he reached the center of the chamber. He actually made it through the second set of doors at the top of the stairs before the shakes set in. _Music. That will help. It always does._ He dragged in a deep breath and headed for the ground floor entrance to the ballroom.

* * *

Hermione Granger stumbled back from the cell door as Malfoy's face disappeared, scrubbing at her mouth with one hand and probing at the tender scalp with the other. She gasped as her fingertips encountered a slender length of wood entangled in her hair. 

His wand! She dropped down on the bare cot and curled up with her back to the cell door as she drew the shaft free and examined her surprising find.

_Why?_ she cut off the thought ruthlessly. The 'whys' could wait. There was a small parchment packet tied around the wand's ebony handle, and she worked it loose to find a note and a tiny envelope. The note read: _"Your mum is safe at St. Mungo's. Use this floo powder and get out fast before the alarm wards bring anyone"_ It was Draco's writing, familiar from his signature on prefects' patrol schedules. And it was his wand; she could feel the magic that hummed through it. As she balanced the shaft across her palm, she reviewed the words he'd spoken before he'd kissed her. They hadn't been double-entendre at all.

In the windowless dungeon, she had no idea of how much time she had before someone would come investigating, so she'd have to be quick. There was the risk that it was a cruel trick--but it was her only chance.

Hermione stuffed the note and envelope into her pocket, rolled to her feet and extended the wand towards the cell door. The ebony wand didn't feel as comfortable in her hand as the one that the senior Malfoy had taken from her the night before, but she would use the tools available to her.

It was uncooperative, and took four tries before she was able to break through the locking ward on door. She burst out into the center of the dungeon chamber, sure that she was going to come face to face with Lucius Malfoy or one of his compatriots, but found the stone-walled room unoccupied. She ran for the great hearth against the wall, dodging ominous pieces of torturous furniture.

"_Inciendo!_" she cried, aiming the wand at the hearthstone. A small fire came into being, barely enough to illuminate the vast fireplace, but it would have to do. Pulling the packet of floo powder from her pocket, she flung it into the blaze. As she did so, she thought she heard the main door creak as if it were opening. Panicked, she leapt into the green flames, crying out, "The Burrow!"

* * *

Flashes of light alternated with dark as Hermione zoomed past innumerable hearths to finally fall--literally--out into the cluttered hominess of the Weasley kitchen. 

She choked on the soot that filled her mouth and nose, and crouched on hands and knees on the hearthrug as she coughed her airway clear.

"Hermione!" Molly Weasley's cry was almost a shriek as she dropped the saucepan she held and darted across the room to scoop the seventeen-year-old up, brushing soot from Hermione's face.

Hermione burst into tears as the incipient hysteria she'd been holding at bay broke loose.

Incoherently, she babbled into Molly's ample bosom, tangling her words until the older witch magically summoned a steaming tea cup and forced Hermione to drink it down.

Between swallows of the strong brew, Hermione choked out, "Draco Malfoy gave me his wand, and floo powder." She sniffled and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "Oh, god, what's going to happen to him when his father finds out?" She fumbled the note out of her pocket and showed it to Mrs. Weasley in disbelief. "My mum. He rescued my mum!" She broke down into tears again, and Molly soothed her.

"Let's tuck you up on the couch, dear. I need to floo Arthur. And Headmaster Dumbledore."

Hermione huddled in brightly coloured knitted and crocheted blankets on the worn but comfortable couch as she listened to Molly make the floo calls.

Minutes later, there came the always-startling pops of person apparating into the room. She wiped at her face with her fingers and sniffled once more as she was taken into the embrace of Arthur Weasley. "Oh, Hermione, we were so worried! How did you get away? We need to fellytone your father."

"Not quite yet, Arthur." Headmaster Dumbledore drew up a chair next to the couch and smiled kindly at her. "In what condition was young Mr. Malfoy when you last saw him, Miss Granger?" Behind him she saw the tall looming form of Professor Snape appear.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then paused to recollect the sequence of events more clearly. When he came through the wards, Draco's face had been mottled with bluish and greenish bruises that had seemed to fade in and out. "I think he was hurt," she said slowly. "There were bruises on his face, but there weren't always there. He--he didn't seem himself, at least, not like at school."

Dumbledore looked up, exchanging concerned glances with Snape.

The Potions professor seated himself next to Arthur. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning, Miss Granger."

Somehow there was another mug of hot tea in her hands, and the knitted blankets seemed to be giving her comforting hugs to her as she applied her analytical mind to the events of that and the previous day--forcing back the panic that rose everytime she thought of her mother.

"At some point, after Avery locked me in, I fell asleep. Something woke me up but I didn't know what it was." Hermione rubbed at her forehead. "But now that I think on it--" she said slowly as she replayed the exhaustion-fogged memories, "It was a voice. It said 'St. Mungo's." She took a deep breath and pushed her frantic emotions back. "I couldn't see the fireplace from where I was laying, but it must have been Draco with my Mum."

She went on to describe how Draco had returned later in the day and taunted her. She flushed as she described the kiss, but kept her voice steady as she went on to explain finding the wand--and the floo powder--in her hair. She showed them the note she still clutched in one hand. As Dumbledore examined it and passed it to Snape, she finished. "I broke through the warding and locking charms after four tries, and headed for the hearth. '_Inciendo_' worked the first time, and I threw in the floo powder and yelled 'The Burrow' and got here. I thought I heard the dungeon door open behind me but I was already in the floo by then."

"It's his writing," Snape confirmed. "Just as the others are." He handed the note to Arthur Weasley. "And there's no way he's going to be able to escape on his own. The instant they realize what happened, they'll seal off all floo access to and from the house and add more guards to the Apparition point--assuming Lucius doesn't just put up overall anti-Apparition wards."

"I didn't even think about anti-Apparition wards," Hermione admitted. "And even if I could have done it last night, I couldn't leave Mum there." She looked earnestly at Arthur. "Mr. Weasley, please. Where is my mother? Is she at St. Mungo's?"

"No, Hermione." He patted her shoulder. "They released her just a few hours ago. She's safe."

"I want to see her--"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "So you shall, as soon as we return to Hogwarts." He also patted her hand. "Molly, could you conjure some warm clothing that Miss Granger can borrow? It's still a fair walk from the gates to the castle."

After a flurry of quickly gathered jumpers and an extra cloak, Hermione hugged Mrs. Weasley and joined the professors and Mr. Weasley in front of the fire.

"Envision the gates," Snape told her, and she nodded, feeling a bit nervous. She'd never Apparated such a long distance before.

She closed her eyes and pictured the gates with the school crest and the sculpted boars on each post. "Hogwart's," she whispered to herself, and then the world flashed out and she was staring at the gates in truth.

By the time the four had reached the main doors, she was shaking with cold and residual shock. The corridors and stairs blurred before her, and when they hustled her into the door of the hospital wing, she stared, disbelievingly, the sight of her mother sitting in an armchair by the fire, sharing tea with Madam Pomfrey.

"Mum!" She broke away from Arthur's supporting hand, and threw herself into her mother's arms, finally accepting her hopes as reality.

TBC


	11. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and those corporate entities which have paid her good money for the rights they hold. This is a work of fanfiction, written for personal enjoyment, as a tribute to the fantastic universe that Ms. Rowling has created, and for no monetary gain whatsoever.

**A/N:** This is an Alternate Universe Harry Potterverse story. It's a "Redeemed Draco" fic, and those who like their junior Malfoy's nasty had best read elsewhere. "Metamorphosis" is the ever-growing plot bunny that came out of the WIP journal-story "Letter to No One."

**A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006):** This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.

* * *

**Metamorphosis: Chapter Ten  
**by RowanRhys 

_Monday, 23 December 1996_

Snape turned away from the reunion and drew the Headmaster aside. "I'm expected to make an appearance at the house party around sundown. Lucius was bragging about a special guest for dinner, even though he and Narcissa are guests of honor at the Daily Prophet's ball tonight." His lip curled in a sneer. "If I show up early--well, Lucius generally doesn't mind my browsing through his library."

"And if you encounter young Master Malfoy--," Dumbledore trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll deal with things as appropriate. I thought I'd invite Draco to spend Boxing Day with me here. I'm sure Narcissa would agree that having him out of the way for a few days would make her house party more enjoyable for the adult guests." He sneered again at Mrs. Malfoy's social ambitions.

The clock on the mantle chimed the half hour. "Then you'd best get ready for it." The Headmaster turned to go back to Hermione and her mother. "Be sure to take that little box I gave you for your birthday--in case you need a quick escape."

Severus nodded and swept from the Wing, headed for his dungeons. Less than a half hour later, he'd arrived at the Apparition point at the Malfoy residence; house elves surrounded him and relieved him of the valise with his dress robes, and informed him that the master and mistress of the house hadn't yet arrived.

"I will await them in the library." He ignored the obsequious creatures' further babbling, and opened the door to the book-lined room.

He realized, too late, that someone else was already sitting before the fire. Before he could back out of the chamber, the other guest looked up, and he hurriedly bowed deeply, his blood running cold, averting his dark eyes as blood red orbs stared at him.

"My lord."

"Happy Christmasss, Severusss. Sssshall we wait for our host here, together?"

* * *

The clock struck two as Draco slid through the side door into the immense ballroom. He strode past the row of life-sized animated marble statues of Malfoy ancestors towards the grand piano that dominated the left side of the dais at the head of the towering chamber. He nodded in polite response to the greeting that Dominus Malfoy granted him, and wondered, not for the first time, what artist had come up with the idea of giving such statues a similar type of life as most of the family portraits had been given. At least the subjects of the portraits had the ability to move from image to image throughout the mansion, but the cool stone personages were trapped on their pedestals--able to change their poses but not to wander from their perches. 

"Have you finished your new work?" Olivia Fiorenzia Malfoy batted her lashes coquettishly at him, and simpered behind her fan. "You mother should feel privileged to receive such an enchanting gift. I know that _I_ would have!"

Draco resisted rolling his eyes. The plump statue had the most annoying way of gushing everything she said, but she was the only being in the household who had ever said anything positive about his music. "I'm just polishing it up, Lady Olivia. You'll hear the whole thing this afternoon."

"Oh, _good!_"

The teenager continued past the even fatter representation of Lady Olivia's husband, Maximus, who, as usual, ignored him like most of the other statues, and deigned not to attend to the conversations that she held with the boy.

The keys of the piano were cool under his fingers, and he quickly lost himself in the flow of melody and harmony, working out the tricky bit right before the close of the composition. There was something about the rhythm of the notes that didn't ring right and he kept returning to the measures, attempting to get it flow like it had in his mind.

Finally, after the magical candlesticks had flared to life with the falling darkness of one of the longest nights of the year, Draco was satisfied with the work. He cast a glance back over his shoulder to where Lady Olivia's statue posed, her hands clasped together under her chin. "It's done, my lady."

He launched into the opening measures and closed his eyes as his fingers moved across the keys, first pianissimo and then moving in a rippling series of crescendos and decrescendos to fall once more into the soft complicated figures that he'd struggled with all afternoon.

Just as the notes dropped one by one into the otherwise silent air of the ballroom, Draco heard a door slam open and multiple footsteps approach him. He recognized Goyle's heavy tread, and felt his fingers go cold, although they did not stumble on the keys. The other bootsteps were Zabini's, and Crabbe's slight limp was clear as well. _Twelve more measures to go._ Aloud, he said, "Oh, you got here early." _Eight more..._ "Just a minute, I want to finish this--"

The last word became a shriek of pain as Goyle stepped up to the left side of the piano and slammed the keyboard cover down on Draco's fingers followed immediately by the clear sound of breaking bones. Zabini appeared on Draco's right and leaned hard on the shining mahogany, pinning the damaged digits.

"Where were you this afternoon, Draco?" he asked in smooth, frighteningly pleasant voice. He nodded to Goyle and they both released the pressure and stepped back from the instrument, allowing Draco to yank his hands from between the pieces of polished wood, fingers already reddened and starting to swell. Crabbe's arm across his throat took him by surprise and he choked as Vincent dragged him backwards off of the piano bench. When his back hit the edge of the dais, jolting his body and increasing the agony from his fractured fingers, Draco was unable to repress the tears of pain that slid down his face.

A boot to his left side forced out most of the air in his lungs, and he clawed with broken fingers at the arm that almost prevented him from sucking in a desperately needed breath.

"Where were you, Draco?" Blaise drew back his foot to strike again.

"H-here." He gave a strangled howl as the boot made contact and he felt the crunch of his ribs giving way to the blow.

"We both know that isn't true. You went to visit the Mudblood."

Crabbe let go of his throat but dug his fingers into Draco's hair; the painful grip keeping the boy in place almost as effectively as the arm lock had. Draco sucked in a breath but the pain in his ribs flared and he jerked in reaction, his feet kicking out and hitting Goyle in the side of the knee. The massive youth dropped all of his weight on Draco's ankles and snarled at him wordlessly.

Zabini moved casually to his side and placed the toe of his dress boots over Draco's right hand, and leaned his weight slowly and steadily on the damaged fingers. "What were you doing down there, Draco?"

"Teasing her--_Stop!_" The last word was a sob as bones grated together. Darkness swirled closer but oblivion remained tantilizingly out of Draco's reach as the crushing pain nearly overwhelmed him. Blaise released the pressure and his vision cleared somewhat. "I wanted to--"

"Take a piece before our Master does?" Lucius Malfoy's voice was icily furious as his boot heels rang across the hardwood expanse of dance floor. Still wearing his outdoor cloak, he loomed over the pinned down youth, knuckles tightening to whiteness over the ebony shaft of his cane. The candlelight glimmered on the silver snakehead's sharp fangs and Draco froze. "Your foolish desires have ruined _everything!_"

With a move so swift that it surprised even Zabini and the other two boys, Lucius bent, dropped the cane, and seized Draco by the front of his shirt, hauling him up to shake him as if he were a disobedient House Elf. "She's _gone!_ The recording wards show you kissing her. Were you so overcome by lust that you didn't even notice her hands inside your robe?" Each word was punctuated by a hard shake. "You were too busy thinking of your other wand to notice her stealing yours!"

Dizzied by pain and the abrupt motion that snapped his head violently back and forth, Draco found himself stunned that his father had actually laid hands on him instead of using magic to punish him. All the physical discipline had always come from wands or other hands--servants' hands--before.

"She's gone; broken the wards and escaped because of your _stupidity!_" The last word was a scream, and Lucius abruptly heaved his son away from him, sending him flying across the room, slamming into the pedestal that supported Maximus Malfoy's image.

Draco's scream of agony blended with Olivia Malfoy's shriek as the immensely fat reproduction of her husband tottered back and forth. Maximus cried out as he finally fell, breaking into several large chunks when he hit the floor. The main part of the huge torso smashed across Draco's hip and thighs, and the boy finally blacked out, just as a terrible voice snapped out, "Malfoy, jusssst what do you think you are doing?"

* * *

Snape's robes billowed behind him as he strode just behind Voldemort, hiding his horror at the scene he'd just witnessed from the door that Malfoy had left open behind him in his anger. The sibilant voice apparently shocked Lucius from his rage, and the platinum-haired man whirled and made a profound bow to the red-eyed figure that stalked towards him, and the three youths prostrated themselves before the Dark Lord. 

"Master--."

"_Crucio_."

Snape kept his gaze facing the senior Malfoy, but he could still view a fair expanse of the room with his peripheral vision. From the corner of his eye he could see the sprawl of Draco's sleeve and the pale brightness of his hair, but the rest of the boy's body was obscured by the remains of the marble statue that keened almost as loudly as Lucius eventually screamed from the torture of the _Cruciatus_ curse. The fat female figure wailed also, but Snape quickly realized that she was actually crying over Draco when he made out the words behind her weeping.

The Dark Lord released the curse and glared down at the elder Malfoy. "You have obvioussssly forgotten your bargain with me. Of what usssse can I make your sssson if you kill him? Ssseverussss, ssssee to the boy."

Snape was already moving, his wand drawn. "_Petros leviosa_." He guided the torso of the statue up and away from Draco, not caring that it broke into several smaller pieces when he let it fall several yards away. Maximus' head shouted abuse at him. "_Silencio!_" Repetition moved the rest of the rubble that obscured the fifteen year old, and he was grateful to see the boy's chest still rising and falling shallowly.

He was no mediwizard. But even he could see that even if the impact of hitting the marble plinth hadn't crushed bones, the weight of the statue had damaged the lower half of the boy's body, perhaps beyond repair. Blood stained the grey trousers where flesh had broken open, and the liquid was quickly pooling on the polished wooden floor. "_Stasis totalis!_" The air around Draco shimmered slightly, and he went completely still, not even breathing under the spell's influence--frozen temporarily in time.

Severus mentally inventoried the potions he carried in his robe pockets. The pair of pain relieving potions would help somewhat if he could get them into the boy. The _Sanguinous_ elixer could help start replacing the blood that Draco was losing. Boneset was out of the question. It would fuse the fractures as they were, twisted and distorted, and he knew that he had not the skill necessary to reset them. It was quite possible that even Pomfrey wouldn't be able to deal with them, but she was the best hope the boy had, if he could figure out a way to get him back to Hogwarts.

He took a closer look at Draco's injuries and realized that the Slytherin would likely die before Severus could get any of the restoratives into him; the stasis would have to remain until he could obtain real medical care.

He straightened up and turned back to the Dark Lord, ignoring the prostrate men who still cowered before Voldemort. Tom Riddle was staring at the sheet music on the piano's rack, and Snape gave it a quick glance, recognizing Draco's handwriting on the scrawled words in the margin of the hand-annotated score.

"My lord," he bowed. "I can do nothing for him here. He needs to be in the care of a trained Healer. St. Mungo's--"

"--Will asssk a lot of awkward questionsss, Ssseverusss, if you bring young Master Malfoy to them. They would want to know where hisss father isss." The red eyes narrowed as the Dark Lord shot a harsh look at where Lucius Malfoy lay recovering from the _Cruciatus_.

Snape hesitated, as if he'd gotten a quick thought. "My lord, I have managed to set some controls in the school nurse--so that she will not ask inconvenient questions of me when I return from one of your missions requiring medical care. She'll believe anything I tell her--and she's skilled enough to keep the boy alive until specialists can be procured."

"Then take him there immediately. Make sssure the tale is believable. Report to me when you know if he will live or die. I'm sure that Luciusss will be eagerly awaiting word as well." His expression indicated that if the news was poor, the elder Malfoy would be suffering far more than the _Cruciatus_ that had just been laid upon him.

"The boy isss in your charge henccceforth, Sssseverus. He'ssss now your responssssibility."

Severus nodded and bowed once more before turning back towards Draco. As an afterthought, he lifted the sheets of music from the piano and tucked them away in his robes before approaching the motionless figure. At the boy's side once more, he pulled a small box from his pocket that Dumbledore had turned into a Portkey. Unlike most, this one had a trigger phrase to activate it, and he placed it against one of the boy's damaged hands before he whispered the words that would carry them both back to Hogwarts.

TBC


End file.
